


My Dear Minerva

by InkofLethe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dubious Consent, F/M, Substance Abuse, consent under the influence, mentor!Dumbledore, substance abuse but with magic, wrong and not romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkofLethe/pseuds/InkofLethe
Summary: Sure, Tom Riddle was handsome and intelligent and well-spoken, but he was also two years her senior and completely unattainable (and also a Slytherin), and she was too practical to spend time lusting over a boy she could never have and and only superficially wanted anyways.Then again, who said it was Minerva’s choice?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Canonically, this timeline doesn’t work at all as Riddle would have graduated 2 years before McGonagall started but I wrote it anyways.  
> Also, WARNING, this doesn’t contain any “violent” rape but it contains very dubious consent (so, you know, rape) and an abusive relationship. Please be warned.

She knew of him, of course. Everyone knew of him, but unlike most of the students, and unlike most of the other girls, she didn’t really care.

Sure, Tom Riddle was handsome and intelligent and well-spoken, but he was also two years her senior and completely unattainable (and also a Slytherin), and she was too practical to spend time lusting over a boy she could never have and and only superficially wanted anyways.

Besides, she was far too busy to deal with boys anyways. She had quidditch practice at least twice a week and had to get straight O’s to guarantee herself a prefect badge the next year.

 

Of course, she got that badge and on the first of September, she finally met the oh-so illustrious Tom Riddle in person.

He was every bit as charming as everyone said.

As they were packing up and leaving, their eyes met and she left the prefect compartment feeling like she had been cut with a diffindo and hit with a confundus.

 _How strange,_ she mused, as the train steamed towards Hogwarts.

She forgot about it by the time they reached the school.

 

She rather embarrassingly fell off her broom one particularly windy quidditch practice only two weeks into the year. It hadn’t been that high of a fall, but she had landed awkwardly and broke her leg, necessitating a night in the infirmary.

And there had been an important prefect meeting that night.

“McGonagall!”

“I’m sorry, I tried to come, but Madame Rogers has _wards_ around me,” she defended, before the matron could even come out of her office, fussing about the noise.

“I don’t want you yelling at my patient, head boy or not,” she demanded. Riddle nodded in resigned agreement. Madame Rogers nodded and began cataloging the potions supply, giving them a weak illusion of privacy.

“You’re not in trouble, Minerva,” he said with a vague roll of his eyes. _He should have looked childish,_ she thought, _but he managed to make it elegant. He was such a snob._ “I merely wanted to update you about the meeting.”

“So you had to come in yelling my name? And Meredith couldn’t do it either? Considering that unlike you, she does like me.” Meredith Benton was the head girl and a Gryffindor who Minerva was vaguely friendly with already.

“Who said I don’t like you?”

“Who has evidence for the contrary?”

His pale lips curved into an amused, beguiling smile. “I really do like you.”

She jerked backwards, eyes wide. That the much lusted-after Tom Riddle liked her should have made her ecstatic, or at least _flatter __her, but she felt more wary._

Perhaps because it was more condescending amusement than genuine liking and he didn’t even _try_ to hide it. 

If she was less shocked, she might have been insulted.

“Here’s a transcript of the meeting. Go to Benton or any of the older prefects if you have questions. Night, Minerva.”

Just as he turned and left, his eyes seemed to flash and she was left feeling like air.

Cold and insubstantial.

 

There was no shortage of awkward encounters through the next year. Almost every prefect meeting, which happened weekly, he would give her one of those weird glances that left her hot and cold with her head in the clouds.

Occasionally, she’d run into him elsewhere too. Usually in out of the way, isolated places, making her more than a little paranoid that he was following her somehow.

By Halloween, she was convinced he was using magic on her, even though she couldn’t actually detect any traces.

By the end of the year, she was more than happy to see him leave. 

To no one’s surprise, he was the top student in his class and gave an unusually solemn speech during the graduation ceremony. As he stepped down, their eyes met. One last time.

She clapped with leaded hands as diplomas were handed out and finally felt warm relief blossoming as the new graduates left on the boats.

Her summer passed the muggle way as usual, and then came a fantastically unremarkable sixth year, capped by the lovely feat of winning the quidditch cup.

Another summer passed and then came seventh year, complete with the head girl spot. 

Through all of it, Minerva slowly forgot the strangeness of Tom Riddle and his infinitely dark and deep brown eyes and by the time she saw him again, mere months before her own graduation, it was only a vaguely uncomfortable thought buried under the numerous memories of late nights in the girls’ dorm, pining over the handsome older boy.

Besides, he never _hurt_ her. Perhaps she just liked him more than she realized.

 

“Minerva, I see you’re still doing well.”

“Riddle, what are you here for?” She was on patrol in a little frequented part of the sixth floor and, although she was on guard, hadn’t really expected to encounter another person. Much less Tom Riddle.

“I was here to interview for the Defense position, but Dippet thought I was too young.”

“You are only, what, twenty? The sixth years can probably remember you as a fourth or fifth year and a good handful of them still have silly crushes on you, even if you’ve been gone two years.”

He laughed, a deep yet crystal sound. His eyes sparkled and she felt a tug insisting that she leave his presence quickly, but why, exactly, she wasn’t sure.

“I suppose, although I would still love to teach here. How about you, Minerva, how have you been? I see you’re head girl.”

“I’ve been good, except for an injury during the quidditch finals. Rochester hit a bludger at my head and gave me a nasty concussion. First night I’ve been allowed to patrol on my own since, actually.”

He expressed his sympathies and they talked for some time longer, before Minerva realized that she should have completed this floor and moved to the seventh long ago. As he left, he gave her a twisted little smile and his eyes flashed, a vivid red, she realized with shock for a split second. Then her head was full of clouds and her skin was burning with chills.

This time, it was so strong that her head was floating for two days afterwards, long enough for her to barely notice the rumors that Montgomery Rochester had been found beaten up the next morning.

In fact, she only barely remembered meeting him that night at all, even after her head cleared again.

 

It was mere weeks after her graduation that Minerva saw Tom Riddle again. A brand new member of the Department of Law Enforcement, she was at her first Ministry gala and flushed with nervous excitement.

“Minerva, you look divine in that gown.”

She blushed, stoking the rich, deep green silk nervously. She had always loved green, although she had avoided it to some degree over the last few years due to house rivalries. When she saw the gorgeous fabric, however, she couldn’t resist buying it.

“Thank you, Riddle.”

“You know, you may call me Tom, if you wish. We have been acquainted long enough, I think.”

“I suppose so, Tom.”

The name felt weird in her mouth. Too large but also like it was falling in the cracks of her teeth and a touch bitter.

“Would you care to dance?”

She hesitated, some vague warning sluggishly dragging itself across her mind.

Then he smiled, polite and inviting, and she gave in, hazy, previous memories only ghosts in her mind compared to the colorful, summer evening in front of her.

Two delightful songs later, they decided to stop for a flute of champagne and ended up stepping onto a deserted balcony.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, admiring the flowers charmed to grow twisted around the marble guard.

“Not as beautiful as you, my dear,” he murmured right behind her. She startled at his sudden proximity and the flute she had held loosely fell and smashed into the garden pathway two floors below. 

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered, turning and pressing her back to the rail, crushing delicate petals behind her. “Can you move…Tom?”

“But why would I do that? I can see your pretty green eyes so much better here.”

“Tom…” Minerva’s breath hitched as his wafted under her nose.

“You’re so very beautiful and intelligent and brave, my dear, won’t you let me kiss you?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she breathed, shrinking and squeezing her eyes closed.

“Please, my lovely Minerva?” he whispered, lightly taking her jaw in cold hands. The tip of his nose brushed against her forehead, making her shake like a leaf in the lightest breeze. 

He drew back a few inches and she relaxed just a touch and opened her eyes.

 _What a mistake,_ she would think years later.

His eyes flashed. His dark chocolate irises flashed blood red and she was gone, again.

Drugged on some subtle, lost magic. Dark magic, she was certain now.

“Won’t you let me kiss you, Minerva?” he hissed.

“Yes, Tom.” 

Just like his flashing eyes, his lips on hers flooded her with incoherence. She was drifting on warm, summery winds that turned into frigid gales then back again within seconds. Her feet were in fire and arms coated in frost. Smoke swept up her brain.

His hands were infinitely cold at her neck, but his lips were soft and warm. Slow, delicate kisses, almost innocent, despite his warm tongue running across the barely open seam of her own lips, despite the dark magic he was pouring into her with his so-pale lips.

She managed to peel open sticky eyes as his lips left hers, only for them to roll back as he began to press tender, open mouth kisses along her jaw then neck. They tingled, energy sparking between her skin and his mouth.

Her body sagged against the guard as she floated even deeper into what her dazed mind could only call bliss. Beautiful, dense nothing.

Finally, he stopped and she blearily opened her eyes again.

“I love you, my Minerva,” he breathed into her ear as he grasped her wrists and squeezed far too tightly.

He let go suddenly, gave her a light kiss on her cheek, and disappeared.

She was in an incoherent daze for the rest of the night, but no one seemed to notice.

 

A week later, she screamed when she caught sight of Tom Riddle through the glass of the local grocer’s shop.

“Miss Minerva!” the elderly grocer gasped, rushing to her side as quickly as his frail frame allowed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m- I’m fine,” she replied, making eye contact with the wizard through the hazy pane. _He didn’t flash his eyes,_ she realized after a silent moment. “If you’ll excuse me, Mister Adams,” she murmured distractedly, placing the apple she had been inspecting into his hand.

“Tom.”

“My dear Minerva. Shall we take a walk?”

She didn’t protest. As horrified as she was in her more lucid moments, she wanted to feel him again, to feel his dark magic again. She was quickly becoming addicted.

Their walk ended with him kissing her again against a tree in her neighbor’s orchard.

She drowned in the velvet of his dark magic. It streamed through her body, leaving her limbs numb and her mind hazy, but he didn’t bother using his red eyes again. He didn’t have to.

 

He continued visiting her in her sleepy, little, muggle village every few days as the summer continued. Sometimes, she wondered why go all the way there when both of them were working in London during the day, but she never asked.

She was just too happy to have him at all.

Within the month, they made love in a meadow a few miles outside of town.

Their magics sparked as it flowed between them. That the flow was always unbalanced, she didn’t even notice.

Soon, dark magic clung to her skin, seeping at her very pores, even though she had never casted a dark spell herself.

Her mother noticed within a week, but she lied and said _there had been an accident at work, but the healers said it’d wear off within a few days with no harmful effects._ Then she began looking up magic purging rituals.

She felt a twinge of guilt, but she was more addicted to his corrupted pleasure than ever before.

 

“Hello, Miss McGonagall.”

“Hello, Professor Dumbledore. Or should I say, Headmaster.”

She had been thrilled to hear that her mentor was taking over the school, but she really hadn’t been expecting a personal invitation back to the school so soon after graduation.

“Would you like a sherbet lemon, my dear? I’m afraid the tea isn’t done yet.”

“No, thank you.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly, replacing the little crystal dish back on the corner of his desk. “You are moving to London soon, in the next few days, correct?”

“Yes, September twenty-ninth.”

“Congratulations, you will do wonderful things in the Ministry, I am sure.”

She blushed slightly at the praise. It meant so much coming from her mentor. 

At the prompting of the teapot, which began to glow brightly, Professor Dumbledore poured the tea. Minerva added some milk and began sipping, while Professor Dumbledore stirred in a rather large amount of sugar. Finally, he took a long draught of his tea and Minerva decided she might as well satisfy her curiosity.

“I hate to be rude, but I am wondering why you called me here today, Professor? I doubt it was to make small talk and drink tea. As good as the tea is.”

He laughed. “You are correct, Miss McGonagall. I wanted to talk to you about a very… specific topic. I believe you were relatively close to Tom Riddle during his last year here, were you not?”

She stiffened and her teacup settled on the table a bit roughly. A few drops splattered onto the surface.

Only the day before, she had found that she was with child. She had called Tom using an enchanted coin he had given her and told him of the unexpected news.

He held her as she grasped desperately for breath and assured her that he’d stay with her forever. As she calmed down, he even dropped to his knees in the recently ploughed field and asked her to marry him.

_To become his queen._

Of course, she said yes.

But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to confess the entire, convoluted tale to her parents last night and so couldn’t tell them anything at all.

“I suppose so, Professor,” she said finally.

“What do you know of him now?”

“I- Not anymore than anyone else, I’d think. He’s still working at that shop in Diagon Alley, isn’t he?”

“Knockturn Alley, technically,” Dumbledore said, a strange little sparkle in his eyes. It was far different than Tom’s red glances, and lacked the trace of dark magic that she had become far too familiar with, but felt malicious nonetheless. “You are certain you haven’t been in contact with Tom?”

“Why would I?”

“Of course, my dear. He’s dangerous, you know. Tom Riddle. Unbalanced perhaps, and entirely too in love with the darker arts.”

She swallowed. She had purged herself of dark magic more carefully than usual that morning, but traces still lingered, pulsing under her skin.

“He seemed a bit obsessed with you, Miss McGonagall. Be careful. He has already done many terrible things and he won’t hesitate to do more.”

“Terrible things?” she repeated, not being able to stop herself.

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward across his large desk, resting his purple-robed arms on the surface. His auburn beard rested on the wood, colors clashing excitedly.

“Few will believe it, but I have reason to suspect he is behind the rashes of murders through the Isles the last year. Perhaps not all directly, but he has followers as well, and they are as willing to commit atrocities as he is.”

“Followers.”

The Knights of Walpurgis, she thought to herself. Tom had mentioned them a few times. A club of sorts, he had explained them as. To share ideas and network.

She knew he hadn’t been entirely truthful, but she hadn’t cared.

“They are… pureblood supremacists, I believe,” the Headmaster concluded, nodding slightly at her twitch.

“He is a halfblood, is he not? Just like me.”

“Maybe not just like you, my dear, but he is a halfblood, I do believe.”

“Thank you for the warning, Headmaster. I’m afraid I must be going, now.”

“Of course, Miss McGonagall. Have a good day.”

She pretended to not notice his offered hand, sure he’d sense the dark magic under her skin if he touched her, and fled down the tower, out of the school, and away, back home.

 

Two days later, she was moved into her new flat in London.

Tom’s visits became less frequent. She was surprised at first until she realized the rashes of muggle killings across the country were increasing.

She threw up that night and fell asleep in the bathroom.

At times, she wondered why she didn’t break their engagement. For their baby, she’d rationalize automatically. A subconscious part of her mind added that Tom would have little qualms about killing her—killing their baby—if she made him mad enough.

Yes, keeping Tom complacent would be better.

Besides, for all her disgust, she still felt a thrill whenever he touched her, fed her dark magic.

So she stayed, hiding her bouts of nauseous disgust with a weak laugh and _I’m pregnant, Tom, of course I’m feeling awful._

And then she fell ill.

It was around the ninth week of her pregnancy, and she knew morning sickness was still common at that point, but she also knew it wasn’t her child that was making her so ill.

Nearly no one knew of her pregnancy still, only her, Tom, and the private midwife he had hired for her, so she claimed wizarding flu and took a few days off work. After the first two days, she thought she was getting better, that it was just a routine sickness, but it came back, worse, the day after.

She couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t even sit up, and soon began having nightmares, whether she was asleep or not.

It was all peculiar, but afterwards, she would only remember one dream.

Their child had just been born, a beautiful little boy, but he had no magic running through his blood.

Tom had raged, locking down the hospital room and murdering those who tried to break in with little thought. Stray magic ignited the walls and she and their little boy choked on the smoke and ash. And finally, Tom turned his wand on the wailing baby and said it.

_Avada Keravada_

 

Her first memory after waking from her delusions was of Healer Dolly, carefully cleaning up the small bedroom. She was suppose to have had a check up, Minerva realized later.

“It is lucky that Master Riddle is abroad right now,” the Healer said quietly, as Minerva’s head stopped spinning.

Minerva wanted to question her, but no sound came out, and Healer Dolly set on feeding her broth and potions.

The next day, Minerva finally was able to ask.

“Why is it good that Tom is gone?” she asked, a bit of crossness leaking through despite her weakness.

“You have dark magic poisoning. You’re not suited for the darker arts, Miss. Master Riddle’s magic was beginning to destroy you. I managed to flush out most of it, enough for your body to be able to fight back, but you were so close to death when I first arrived, dear.”

“He poisoned me?”

Healer Dolly nodded. “And your darling baby too. He’s pure as you. Can’t take dark magic, especially still so small. He’s sicker than you, crying out for help. Doubt it helped your own system but you seem strong enough to save you both. Though I’m not certain if either of you would be able to take another crisis.”

Minerva thought her heart had stopped beating.

“Help me,” she said finally. “Help me leave and save my baby.”

 

Scant days later, still shaky from her week of delirious bedrest, she was moving out to a heavily warded flat that Headmaster Dumbledore referred her to, few questions asked.

Tom would be back in the country the next day, and for him, she left only a note on the kitchen counter.

_Dearest Tom,_

I’m sorry, but I realized I cannot marry you. While you were away I fell ill; ill from your dark magic. Moreover, our baby is ill and weak from it and I will never risk his life. I will owl you once he is born, but do not contact me sooner.

And please, never touch me again.

Yours forever,

Minerva

It was all for naught, of course. She had just begun to show when she miscarried. Healer Dolly was sympathetic but not surprised. If Minerva had been honest, she wasn’t either.

To Tom, she sent a scrap of parchment with a single line.

_I miscarried. I’m sorry. —M.M._

In return, she received a scroll from a pitch-colored crow.

Come back to me, my queen —T.R. 

A single line, in his looping script. She cried over it for hours, before writing her reply.

_No. Don’t contact me again, please._

There was a massacre of muggles by someone with magic in London the next day. She went to Headmaster Dumbledore to confirm her suspicion then fled home to sob.

He was a monster, she realized. And through the years, she would realize how terrible of a monster he was. Worse and worse with each revelation. Her skin crawled when she thought about his kisses and their bodies moving together in a bed of soft grass, but it also tingled with that last bit of dark magic that was embedded so deep within her that no amount of purging would be able to remove it.

For however much she loathed Tom Riddle, she still was addicted. She could still hear his coying voice and saw his flashing eyes.

To her very dying day.

 

_She had died and was crossing. A meadow bathed in white and warmth, carpeted in familiar, soft grass. She was young again, eighteen, probably._

My dear Minerva, _a nothing voice hissed around her as the scene tinged a deep pink._

“I told you, Tom. Never touch me again,” _she whispered to the empty air as she continued to walk._

Until she had walked to the hazy tree line and was swallowed by whatever was beyond and the voice was silenced forever.

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: Don’t be a crazy, abusive egomaniac like Voldy. Consent under the influence (of drugs, alcohol, or dark magic) is not consent. Also, just don’t drug people in the first place.  
> In addition, I realize that Minerva is able to get herself out of the abusive relationship pretty easily (more or less) which is usually not the case in the real world. This is mostly a result of the story already being really rather long and me not being able to bring myself to make it any more dark.  
> For additional information about consent and abusive relationships here’s a few links:  
> Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network (USA based): https://www.rainn.org/  
> A pretty extensive list of various resources by RAINN (also mostly US based): https://www.rainn.org/national-resources-sexual-assault-survivors-and-their-loved-ones  
> Recognizing abuse (& some resources): http://darthbuttercup.tumblr.com/post/66517873371/signs-of-abuseabuse-resources  
> An app to help recognize abuse (you or a friend/family): http://www.joinonelove.org/my_plan_app  
> Dating Abuse help (specifically designed for teens): http://www.thehotline.org/2013/02/dating-abuse-resources-for-teens/  
> Specifically made for US college students: https://www.notalone.gov/  
> Specifically for the LGBTQ+ community (they call it GLBTQ, idk why): http://www.glbtqdvp.org/  
> For male victims or men who want to advocate: http://www.mencanstoprape.org/  
> Consent: http://www.consentiseverything.com/#WhatIsSexualConsent
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Ink of Lethe


End file.
